Harry's Second Chance
by Nyxelestia
Summary: Reversing time is easy. Stopping a war is easy. Saving the future is easy. Keeping your sanity's the hard part. But Harry's gone through it all before - he'll do it again. Desperation is not a force to be reckoned with. No one knows this better than him.
1. A Prologue of Sorts

Chapter 1 Prologue

**A/N:**** Hiya! Welcome to the re-write. Just a foreword: the rating may later be upped to M. Don't know, yet.**

* * *

A young man sat in his luxurious office, alone, with a glass of scotch in his hands, and a pensive look in his eyes. As he poured himself another drink, Harry considered his latest project, the latest among a series. He took up multitudes of small projects and causes to fill his now-ample time, but this one…this one could change history.

Literally.

Mindlessly, a sip of scotch flowed past his lips and down his throat, the burning not even registering in his mind. He'd felt this same burn, craved it, far too often for him to remember it anymore.

He took another sip, leaning his head back, shutting his tired eyes. One of those moments where he was glad for the potion that fixed his eyes. No glasses to deal with for an impromptu nap.

He was sprawled across the large chair in his office. His head and shoulders were hanging off one arm, and his legs were draped off the other arm. He sighed, before swallowing the whole damn glass in one go, letting the burn in his throat last as long as possible.

"You know," the portrait of Minerva McGonagall said. "You're setting a bad example."

"The students don't actually see this," Harry pointed out, sitting up a little bit to pour himself another glass. "Besides, look who's talking. I've seen your detention records, remember?"

She rolled her eyes as Dumbledore's portrait chuckled.

"I was the one _serving_ her those detentions," he said, laughing. "She was quite a rambunctious child."

"Albus!"

Harry smiled to himself sadly as he downed another glass, listening to the portraits' bickering. Oddly comforting as he continued to sip. As much as he wanted to drown away the sorrows, he had a feast to attend, tonight, and he _refused_ to let anyone see him drunk. That part of himself, like many (or rather, most) parts of himself, he kept deeply hidden.

He didn't much like the 'mysterious, tortured soul' stereotype he seemed to constantly fit into, but sadly, it was true.

"She does have a point, Harry," Dumbledore's portrait continued.

"I know, Professors," Harry said, already tracking back into the conversation.

"We're no longer your professors," McGonagall said.

"You'll always be professors to me."

"Then listen to us: it won't do for you to be drunk."

"I'm not," Harry said. "I have the alcohol tolerance of a bloody Veela."

Another eyeroll elicited from the headmasters and headmistresses around the whole damn room.

The small gargoyle head above the main door to the office came to life and opened its mouth to speak.

"Professor Lavender Thomas is coming," it said simply.

Harry expanded his Occlumental range, and in a moment, he sensed another mind just outside the door.

"Come in," he called out, swinging the door open with a flick of his fingers.

The blonde divination professor just shook her head as she walked in. She was used to this.

"Harry," she said. "There have been some concerns about Cho Chang's ghost. She's been missing for quite some time now, and the students are worried."

"Check the bathroom that's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said. "Cho sometimes goes there to mope along with Myrtle."

"We already checked," Lavender said. "But we couldn't find her there."

Harry frowned.

"Prefect's bath?"

"Checked."

"Room of Requirement?"

"Checked."

"Owlry?"

"…er, no, not yet."

Harry smiled.

"Try that, then the Astronomy tower, then in the cave in the forest. If you can't find her after that…she probably passed on."

"Harry!"

"I'm kidding! Jesus Christ, learn to take a bloody joke, Lav."

"Huh – if you made better jokes…"

"Do you find something wrong with my absolutely _outstanding_ sense of humor?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, before suddenly, she spotted the bottle on the desk.

"You really shouldn't-"

"It's Halloween," Harry said succinctly.

"Oh…" Understanding tinted her voice. "Right. Well…"

She knew him well enough to know false platitudes would do nothing to help, so she simply thanked him for the help with the ghost and went off.

"One of those moments where I wish I was the Defense teacher, again," Harry said, his edge softening as soon as she left.

"You make a far better headmaster," Minerva said, trying to comfort him. "Mr. Malfoy is doing well enough on his own in Defense."

Harry shook his head with a stonily amused look on his face. What he needed was a good cigarette, right then.

Turning in his chair, he checked the watch the Weasely's gave him for his seventeenth birthday, still in mint condition, before getting up in his seat and heading up to the Owlry for a nice smoke before dinner.

* * *

Harry lounged in his chair as he looked over the Halloween feast. He smiled as he watched the children clamoring over each other for the best sweets, the pastry and sugary smells of said sweets reminding him of his slightly overstuffed stomach, as he listened to the dull roar of chatter for plans of illicit parties that the staff happily pretended to know nothing about.

He smiled as he chatted with his Defense teacher – of course, in Parsletongue, if only to annoy Lavender.

"…_curse repelling the day after,_" Malfoy said.

"_So soon? I thought that was normally set just before Christmas for third years._"

"_They've done exceptionally well, this year, Potter,_" he said airily.

"For god's sake, stick to English, Damnit!" Professor Michael Coroner said quietly as he took his seat.

Harry and Draco just rolled their eyes, returning to the topic of discussion, in English so Michael could join, chipping in occasionally about his own Runes class.

Pretty soon, the conversation turned to the Quidditch games, all the teachers arguing about it incessantly, each rooting for their own houses of origin.

"Missing Quidditch, Potter?" Malfoy asked with an amused expression as he raised an eyebrow, when Harry mentally drifted off while the conversation finally turned away from the beloved game.

"Yea…what of it?" Harry returned.

"I'll play you a match this weekend," he said. "Release a Snitch, whoever catches it first gets a nice bottle of Scotch from the loser."

"You're on."

Lavender just rolled her eyes.

Harry leaned back suddenly as a silvery head popped up from the plate in front of him. A beautiful head, and painfully familiar.

"Hello, Harry," Cho said.

"Wotcher, Cho," Harry said. "Where've you been?"

"Myrtle and I were playing with some Mermaids hatchlings in the lake."

Of course.

"Anyway…" she leaned in slightly. Cho being the castle's secret messenger, along with the universal tutor, wasn't anything new. "Your little 'project'? The Room of Requirement has been cordoned off. According to the students, the magic in it has finally deteriorated."

She paused. "Though, a few students have already tried to sneak in."

Harry swore – in Spanish, luckily – and said, "Who?"

"Who else? Melinda Wood." Oliver's daughter. Figures.

"Got it," Harry said, a nod in thanks, before silently turning back to his food to eat the rest of his meal in silence.

* * *

_Knock-knock_

Professor Lovegood looked up from her review of the Charms essays she was grading. "Harry!"

"Hey, Luna," Harry said, strolling in after knocking the doorframe. "How are you?"

She grinned. "No Limple-Worms in my eyes today! I was so worried – mid to late fall is usually their mating season. I've been checking my eyes for egg-spots for quite a while."

He smiled at her familiar quirkiness, and wisely chose not to ask what the hell Limple-Worms were.

"And you, Harry?"

"Remember the book I requested from you? On soul magic?"

Almost immediately, her face darkened. That was quite rare from Luna, for her to be serious, but Harry wasn't completely new to it.

"Yes," she said. "I had Dobby take it up to your quarters. Why are you suddenly interested in the post-mortem properties of human astral energy?"

"I have my reasons-"

"So tell me."

Nice thing about Luna – she was just so fucking _blunt_.

Shutting the door behind him, putting up a single spell that would ensure privacy, he said, "I'm doing a bit of a project. Not entirely legal, though."

"Legal?" Luna frowned. "That's never stopped you, before. I mean, you're so close to the _Minister_. He-"

"Luna, even Percy can't cover for me on this one."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, then?"

He sighed. "Just…I'm trying to fix a lot of the damage I've caused, all right?"

Now her eyes widened back to normal size, before she turned away, shaking her head a little morosely. "When will you stop blaming yourself for everything, Harry?"

"Never. Now please, leave it. Thank you for the book. I would appreciate it if you kept my research into this particular field of magic…quiet."

A little resigned, she nodded, and Harry grinned. "Good. I'll leave you back to your essays. The only thing I _don't_ miss about teaching, myself."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice returning back to its usual, dreamy state. "I thought you never assigned homework."

"…almost never."

She laughed as he bid his goodbyes and walked away.

* * *

Harry strode through his private library, flicking through the books by topic. Temporal Magic. Astral Paths. Post-Mortem Magical Energy. Quantam Sorcery. Magical Theory…Theoretical Magic. The Physics of Magical Fusion…

Harry was rather into the subject of magical theory, and how magic in general worked. And while it had started off as a fancy, a bit of self-education when he'd gotten a lot of free time suddenly on his hands from his post as Headmaster, it was starting to take a turn he never expected.

He was in his unusually-large study of Godric's Hollow, where he tended to stay during weekends, and the extra odd day or two otherwise, when he could.

Putting down his book, he headed into the living room, where tools of his more artistic hobbies littered all over the living room. With a few flicks of his wand, he set his sketch pads, drawing pencils, and photographs into neat little piles, and banished the music sheets he'd been playing from to their appropriate corner above the stupid piano.

He flopped down on the couch, switching on the telly Hermione had given him, and then absently looked out the window.

Floor-to-ceiling window, taking up almost an entire wall, gave Harry one of his favorite views, as Godric's Hollow was set atop a hill, looking out over the Potter Estate – the bit of woods and forest, the pond near the edge of the land, the mountains well out beyond, and the path which Harry knew lead down to the village.

Ginny had loved this view.

Harry shook his head, away from that particular train of the thought, and turned back to at least _try_ and get himself absorbed into the television serial.

He smiled in reminiscence as he took a look at the plasma television set in his living room. Even after her death, Hermione's technology hook had left Harry rather self-indulgent in the missing chunk of his life. Lucky that it came right at the wizarding world's pro-Muggle cultural revolution.

He could just imagine what Ron would say at what Harry was half-watching now.

_Are you __**sure**__ Muggles aren't on to Wizards? That man just walked out of a little blue box that seems to hold a bloody palace inside it._

Turning down the volume of Doctor Who sci-fi serial a little bit, Harry latched on to the more pleasant memories as he looked down at the mass of notes and charts and graphs.

God, he wished Hermione were here to help.

But if she were around, along with the countless others that would have to be, too, he wouldn't be doing this.

Taking another sip of his favorite drink – Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch – he picked up another tome – Understanding Long-Term Temporal Travel – and set to reading again.

* * *

"What can I do for you Harry?" was one of the first things Harry heard when he Flooed into Percy's office.

Normally, Harry would've shadow-walked, preferring it to Apparation, to somewhere nearby in the Ministry, but Harry wanted to keep this visit as private as possible, and the Minister's office was protected against even shadow-walking, despite the fact most of the wizarding population didn't even know of its existence. He didn't want Percy's secretary enlightened to the fact he was visiting at all.

The fact that Harry was Flooing in probably tipped Percy off that this was no ordinary visit.

"I need to have access to the Department of Mysteries," Harry said calmly, standing right before the fireplace, still brushing himself off.

"Why ask? You already have it," he asked.

"Not as widespread, though. I only have access to the most 'open' areas. I need more access."

Percy sighed, gesturing to the comfortable seat in front of his desk. Conjuring two glasses and pouring them both liberal amounts of Firewhiskey, he asked, "What kind of access are we talking?"

"Epsilon Level."

Percy's eyebrows shot up, and Harry was glad Percy had just set the bottle down, the way his hand froze.

"Epsilon?! What in Merlin's beard do you need full blown access to?"

Harry sighed. "I…I don't think I can answer that, Percy-"

"Like hell," Percy said. "If you want that kind of access…"

"Please-"

"No. What are you planning to do, Harry?"

A resigned sigh escaping his lips, Harry picked up the tumbler and leaned back in his seat.

"Time travel."

Now Percy's eyes narrowed. "Then what do you need _Epsilon_ levels for? Ignoring how impossible getting you _temporal _magic allowance would be, you can get that in Delta. Hell, depending on what you're doing, even Gamma."

Harry shook his head. "It's more complicated than that."

"More complicated…how?"

"First of all, the extent," Harry said.

Percy's eyes narrowed slightly, the shrewd politician in him emerging. "How far back do you intend to travel?"

"Hopefully, no more than about eighteen years."

The glass tumbled from the Last Weasely's hand and fell to the plush carpet below, spilling its contents as Percy stared at Harry, before snapping his senses back.

"Eighteen _years_?! Are you fucking insane?!"

"Probably. Sanity is overrated."

"Harry…" Percy sat back at his desk. "Eighteen years. 1992. Merlin's beard…you'll be twelve! Not even a teenager. I'll…I won't even be Headboy of Hogwarts, will I? I'll have _just_ become Prefect…"

"Er, yea, I guess so. But yes, about that time. That's when everything just started to go downhill. For me, for the Light, and in favor for Voldemort. As far back as I can go to have the most impact, while still keeping it within a plausible range to change history."

At least the flinch has been lost since Harry defeated the Dark Lord.

"So…you intend to go back and…what? Change everything?"

"Yes. Eighteens years – you can imagine the drastic change I'm looking for."

Percy stalled saying anything, instead picking up the glass and setting it carefully on the table, before using his wand to clean up the contents from the carpet.

"So…you want to change eighteen years of wizarding history," Percy said, pseudo-calmly as he poured himself more vodka – a lot more. "Okay…okay…Epsilon Access…wait a tick-"

Harry had already anticipated the question: why universal access to hyper-restricted areas?

"I do not intend to _just_ go back," Harry said. "I plan to erase this timeline all together."

"Then why-"

"I'm not intending to take my body back. Just my soul. Mind. Memories. Whatever."

Percy frowned. "Okay, Harry, I'm a magical _law_maker, not a magical researcher like you-"

"I'm not a researcher, anymore, Perce," Harry said. "I quit, remember?"

"Still the same mind," Percy said. "And how the blazes do you intend to do that?"

"Separate my soul from my body."

"But you can't do that unless…" and then it all clicked for Percy. "You want to kill yourself and send your soul back eighteen years to your old self…? And reverse all time in the process? Is that what you meant by 'erase this timeline'?"

"Yes."

Harry was so glad for his immense self-control.

"Merlin…" Percy mumbled. "I…it's not…do you really think it's plausible?"

"Yes." Harry nodded to emphasize the point. Percy wasn't the only one with Ministry certifications in psychology. Not to mention political practice. "It would take a lot of technical magic that I doubt you'd understand, but yes, it's possible."

Percy swallowed. "What would you do, if you went back?"

"I'd keep manipulations small, at first," Harry said. "Keep as close to the original timeline as possible while still having it lean my way. However, I imagine if things go my way, it won't be long before I'd be off in a completely different direction. But by then, things will hopefully be set right."

Percy nodded semi-dumbly again, as a sharp three knocks came from the door.

Spelling the door open, Percy answered to his secretary, while Harry mused as to what kind of turmoil Percy might be working through as he thought over this.

"Sorry," Percy said as he stood up and dismissed the secretary. "I have a conference with the Sentience Coalition."

"Is it about the school?" Harry asked. Ever since Harry had changed provisions to allow anyone with magical capability to attend Hogwarts – including, to most people's outrage, werewolves, Veela, and vampires – there had been quite a large amount of turmoil between the humanoid species of the magical world.

"One of the many things," Percy said.

"Need me to come?"

"No, thank you – if it becomes a main topic, I'll call you in."

He paused, as Harry stepped towards the Floo. "I'll see what I can do for Epsilon Levels," Percy said, as he started to assemble a small pile of papers from his desk. "Don't get your hopes up, though."

"I can't, Percy – I don't have any hope left. Hope is what I'm trying to get back."

* * *

A bell tolled – he always loved that phrase – as Harry finished up washing dishes in his kitchen. Strolling over to the fireplace, he wasn't all too surprised to find Malfoy's head in there.

"Let me through, Potter?"

"Yea, hold on."

Allowing Malfoy to bring his whole body through the Floo, Harry walked over to the minibar on the side of the living room, and took a seat on the stool, Malfoy right beside him.

"So," he said, after Harry poured them both some Red Label. "A little birdie, I believe the Muggle phrase is, told me you're looking into temporal and astral magic. Especially post-mortem on the latter."

Harry wasn't surprised. Even if it wasn't Luna who peeped a word, he figured Draco would eventually hear.

"Care to fill me in, Potter?"

He shrugged, and said calmly, belying his words, "Hoping to erase time and send my soul back eighteen years to change the course of history."

Draco's external reaction was slightly more controlled than Percy. He just slammed the glass down in shock and whirled the stool to face Harry.

"Please tell me you're joking," Malfoy said.

"Percy had much the same reaction," Harry said idly, as if oblivious of the true extent of what he said – one of his more favored 'conversation' tactics.

"Minister Weasely? What the hell were you telling him for?"

"I needed Epsilon Access to the Department of Mysteries."

"…care to fill what the hell Epsilon Access is for those of us who _didn't_ work in the Unspeakables' Territory?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Levels of access to the different research centers in the Doom Zone are broken down into five levels – Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Epsilon. Alpha is the least access, and Delta is the most."

"If Delta is the most, then-"

"Epsilon? Well, basically, it means the hyper-restricted areas. Namely, researching magical properties of emotions – like love – and researching things about death, certain types of temporal magic, and a few other things like that. This is restricted beyond restricted – outside of Ministry control, just housed there. There are rumors that Merlin is still alive and mucking about down there."

"So…why not just break in?"

"For one, those have almost impossible protections around themselves. Make Hogwarts look like a teenage girl putting a stupid lock on a diary next to a Muggle treasury security system. And, they're outside of Ministry jurisdictions – and protections. And…they have the right to maim, and if it's dire enough, even kill – and you'll get no help from the Ministry. They don't really reinforce it too much, but just in case…what I'm looking for, they just might, Chosen One or not."

Draco finally got it in him to take a gulp of Scotch.

A rather large gulp.

"So…what do you need to research down there?" he asked, after draining the glass.

"Post-mortem astral magic."

"What the hell does that have anything to do with time travel?"

"Because I don't want to just go back – I want to send my _soul_ back, to meld with my past self. And apart from a Dementor's Kiss, the only way to separate your soul from your body without shattering said soul is to die."

Malfoy's hand was frozen around the glass, before he whipped around toe face Harry.

"You're going to kill yourself?!"

Harry didn't respond, just taking another gulp of his own drink, then refilling Malfoy's glass as said blonde started shaking his head to himself in disbelief.

"This, Potter…this is the most _bizarre_ of your suicide attempts."

Immediately, Harry scowled and turned the stool away, facing outward, towards the window-wall. Harry's multiple suicide attempts were still a sore spot for him. As were a lot of subjects. And Damnit, Malfoy knew them all.

"Potter," Malfoy said, cutting into Harry's astute observation process. "You _can not_ do this. You're more likely to die than gets things done right."

"So?" Harry said. "Either I die or I get sent back in time to fix things right. Sounds like a win-win situation to me."

Malfoy snorted, as Harry swung the stool back. "Win-win? Only _you_ would call death or hell a win-win situation."

"Hell?"

"More than a decade and a half of déjà vu. I wouldn't be able to stand it. You'll go _mad_ with that."

Harry took a deep breath. "Yea, well. Sanity, versus a few thousand lives? I'll take the few thousand."

Draco shrugged and looked down at his drink. "So, how're you planning to do this?"

Harry wandlessly and wordlessly Summoned his journal with the most of his important notes on how this could work. The book came smoothly from the study, without breaking anything along the way. His Summoning Charm had gotten much better since fourth year.

Opening the leather-bound journal, Harry handed it to Draco, who flipped through it and said, "So, translation for non magical theory researchers?"

"Different runes and Arithmancy patterns and notes on types of magic I would have to use to do this."

"Okay…still don't get why you need the Department of Mysteries to help you with this."

"I can't do this kind of magic alone."

"You can't do _this_ alone. This whole damned thing."

"I honestly don't think I have much of a choice, anyway," Harry said.

There was a pause, as Malfoy took another sip of his drink, looking through Harry's journal of all the important notes, despite the fact he probably didn't understand any of it.

"I'll go with you."

Harry was calm when Malfoy said that, finished his sip before setting down the glass.

"No."

"Potter, do you really think you can do this alone?"

"The point of me going back is to give everyone a second chance. That includes you."

"I don't need it anymore than you do, Potter. And you can't get this done right all on your damn lonesome. Even as a kid, I've got power and connections-"

"I'm not going to subject anyone else to this!"

Harry poured himself a second glass of Scotch – and Malfoy a third – as he spoke. "I already have to live through this – I'm not dragging you down with me. You said so, yourself – death versus _hell_. Well, I hate to say this, but I have to agree with you."

Malfoy glared at Harry, even as he turned back to focus on staring into the amber liquid.

"Bloody martyrs, all you goddamn Gryffindors. That's why the Minister is the last Weasely left alive!"

"Rose-"

"You know what I mean, Potter," Malfoy said. "And if you're going to do something this big, I'm not going to let you fuck this up."

Harry sighed, but didn't turn away from the man. "I'm not going to. I'm going to get everything necessary out of the way, _at once_. Destroy all the Horcruxes, out all the Death Eaters, everything."

"Potter-"

"Do you really want to deprive your possible younger self of this? When I go back, I'm going to meld with the younger version of me. Neither me is ever going to get the chance to live a fully peaceful life. But you might."

Malfoy shut up a tick to think about it, Harry turning back to stare at the scatter-mirror wall as he twirled the drink in the glass, not really drinking it at all, setting the glass on the dark mahogany of the bar, which seemed to prompt Malfoy to speak again.

"I suppose I'm supposed to thank you for this?"

"I don't want, need, or expect any thanks, Malfoy, especially not from you. This is what I was born to do: save the wizarding world from Voldemort."

He turned back to see Malfoy nodding at the bar, not looking at Harry. "Fine."

Another pause. "Do me a favor: make sure I don't get turned into a ferret again. I hate ferrets, now."

"Might explain why you keep eating them in cobra form," Harry said side idly.

He heard hissing beside him, and turned around yet again to see Malfoy in his Animagus form, sliding from the stool onto the wooden bar surface.

The reason why he, too, was now a Parslemouth.

Resuming the conversation in Parsletongue, he said, "_I won't make any promises, but who knows. If I've set things right by then, fake-or-real Moody might not even be Professor by then._"

"_Hopefully. Just make sure to stay sane long enough to get things done, and done right._"

Malfoy stayed like that until Harry threatened to metamorph into his own form and rip Malfoy to shreds.

As Malfoy prepared to leave to head back to Hogwarts, he said, "Are you going to be in tomorrow, or are you going to get drunk tonight and shag someone senseless?"

"Probably the latter," Harry said, with a liberal amount of grim practicality. "Hold down the fort?"

"Hogwarts is a castle-"

"It's a Muggle expression, Ferret-Face."

"Git."

"I love you, too," Harry said sarcastically, as Malfoy Flooed out of Godric's Hollow.

* * *

Harry walked through the Epsilon Levels of the Department of Mysteries like he owned this place. Of course, he was scared shitless on the inside, but he'd become adapt at disconnecting his emotions from his physical body when need be.

Not one of the healthier Occlumency tricks – in fact, it was considered Gray, and very strongly recommended against. But for Harry's life, it was necessary.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter."

Distantly, Harry knew some part of him was terrified. But considering right now he was as emotional as a rock, he simply turned and said with faux-pleasure, "Hello," to the blonde man in his late-prime who'd popped up from no where to startle Harry.

"Come this way," the man said succinctly, turning and walking down the maze of corridors. Nice thing about Doom Zone workers: most weren't quite fond of pointless social niceties, and tended to just be absolutely, sometimes painfully, blunt, and get straight to the point. Often seen as rude or eccentric at times, Harry rather appreciated it, considering a large portion of his life was based on subtleties and subtext and subterfuge and a whole lorry full of other euphemisms for lies and strategy that start with 'sub'.

The disconnected emotions, seeing safety, started to trickle back, but Harry's curiosity had no place with emotions – it was simply who he was, which led to Harry looking around, curiosity only growing the more his emotions trickled in.

"Call me Nilrem, by the way," the man said, as he walked into a door marked only with the number '5209'.

Actually, it wasn't entirely marked with it – there was a rune floating around the front of it, which required Aural Vision to see it, something only Doom Zone workers, and those in the warding business like Bill Weasely, really had. Most people would get horribly lost, once in the Doom Zone without practice or a guide.

Unless they were being guided by visions of your godfather being tortured that were implanted by a psychotic mass murder.

They were in a strangely blank and utterly non-descript room. Plain, stone walls, with the standard random, multi-colored painted bricks of the Lower Levels, and a large, oak table, with about half a dozen chairs of all kinds around it, each with a researcher, chatting quietly, until they walked in.

Taking an already conjured seat, a rather majestic looking wooden throne, Nilrem said, "Conjure in a seat, Mr. Potter. I do believe that is the 21st century way of saying things?"

"We're at conjure up, sir," a young blonde girl who, judging by how fucking drop dead gorgeous she was, probably had Veela blood in her lineage someplace. But he would be careful – anyone here could be of any age, species, race, ect. It was possible, down here, that the researchers were literally only a few days old, to up to a few centuries old.

Nilrem shrugged. "Oh, well, then: conjure up a seat, Mr. Potter. Your desire to go back the way you intend has certainly intrigued us."

Harry nodded, conjuring up a rather comfortable black armchair by the table, immediately reaching into his bag, pulling out several copies of the journal, one for each Researcher.

"There's not much I can say," Harry said. Public speaking was, sadly enough, nothing new to him. "I want to go back eighteen years – dramatic change in history. I'd guess even you lot aren't completely oblivious to the devastation wrought by Voldemort. Even half a decade after his death, his magic is still fucking up our lives. Not to mention all the rogue Death Eaters making things a living hell for the rest of us. The how of what I want is all there. All that's left is to figure out if you can actually _do_ it."

With that, he leaned back, waiting for the results of his subtle manipulation.

Oh, brilliant – even down here, he was dealing with another 'sub' tactic. Ah, well – couldn't be helped.

Researchers were notoriously egotistical – at least, of what they were capable of doing, within their own level. Appealing to their pride was usually the slightest edge needed, even if they were emotionally well trained.

It seemed like this was no exception. Right now, they all appeared to be silently reading his notes to themselves. However, they always seemed to change pages at the same time, and always at the same page, so he didn't doubt they were using Mental Magic to hold a form of telepathic conference, excluding him.

"There are a lot of missing pieces," Nilrem finally said. "And quite a bit of his will need far more detailed work-"

"I figured that," Harry said. "This is just the basics. I doubt I could get the whole thing – I thought I'd let the masters deal with the rest."

"Yes," Nilrem said, dismissively. Apparently, he was the spokesman for whatever they came up with, mentally. "However, it is possible. What you want to do, though, is quite difficult."

Harry shrugged. "Reverse time, is all."

"Then do your mind a favor and stop calling it time _travel_," the man said. The sudden change of voice had Harry suspecting that was more one of the others speaking than the man, himself.

"Forgive me," Harry said, knowing that he should but never quite remembering. Despite the emotional disconnect, he'd left his mental wards open so they'd get a better grasp of his idea.

Nilrem nodded in acceptance as he looked down. "We admit, this is a little beyond our scope. We have never tried something of this level."

Harry frowned. "Advanced temporal manipulation – is that not what the Epsilon Level is for?"

"Yes, but this idea is slightly…different. Putting time into a whole new manipulation form. Previously, it was all about moving through time. Your idea is to move time, itself – reverse _everything_ back by almost two decades, but essentially leaving your soul and memories standing still. A bit of a reverse, if I do say so, myself."

Harry nodded. "Is that possible?"

"Theoretically, yes," Nilrem said. "But theoretically is irrelevant. Everything is possible, theoretically."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Everything?"

"_Most_ everything," Nilrem said, sounding more impressed by Harry's challenge than offended. "But, it's practical possibility that matters…and that is still up in the air…"

He suddenly refocused on something and flipped to a section near the back, probably brought to the attention of that perfectly fuckable blonde girl who was the first to turn there.

"Thanks," the girl said suddenly, momentarily pulling away from the journal to smile at him flirtatiously. She'd probably caught on to his description of her, and the slight idea that came with it. "I'll take that as a compliment. As for the suggestion – we'll talk later."

Hm. He might just come out with more than he bargained for. But, she was already turning back to his notes.

"Impressive, Potter," Nilrem said. "How long have you worked on this?"

"Almost two years," Harry said. "Mostly on my own, and mostly just piecing together what other people have found. Not much of this work is my own."

Nilrem nodded again. "Considering you were working on your own, with very little actual knowledge of temporal and astral physics, I must say, this is _very_ impressive."

Harry smiled and said, "Thank you, but all I care to know is if this can be done, or if it was a waste of my time."

Nilrem sighed, and put the journal down. The others were still mentally talking about it, near as Harry could guess.

"I do believe we can," he said. "It will take time, to work through these things. But, it just might."

Harry nodded, already recognizing the need for dismissal.

"I'm not going to bother to ask for a deadline of when you expect to be done," Harry said, already starting to get up.

"On the one time when we have one, too," Nilrem said. "Despite your opinion that there is no intrinsic value in birthdays, they do, in fact, hold a form of astral significance. Yours, especially, leaving such a mark in the everlasting permeation across time that _is_ magic. If it is possible, the best time to send you back will, in fact, be your birthday. From the physiomagical point of view, it will be slightly easier to work with than any other date, and for this to stand a chance, it will need all the edge possible."

Harry nodded again. "Time moving will probably be easy. But killing me without killing me…?"

"That's why we're going to need so much time – that will be the hard part."

One of the others, some mid-forties man sitting next to Hott Blonde, suddenly gave a particular scowl, and Nilrem laughed as a young man resembling Neville, if he were slightly slimmer and blonde, nearly fell off the chair laughing, the others' body languages seeming to hint a form of argument of some sort in between their minds.

"You have us hooked, Potter," Nilrem said.

Harry smiled – he'd figured as much.

He might just win this, yet.

* * *

Cooking.

It was rather bizarre. Harry would've expected that cooking would be one of his most hated pastimes, being that it was one of the things that he'd hated about the Dursely's – cooking for them – and yet now, here was going for gourmet _penne all'arrabbiata_ and enjoying it.

It was oddly therapeutic.

Pouring the penne pasta into the salted water, he set to chopping the garlic, and smiled as memories of cooking 'with' Ginny came flooding back. He'd been on memory lane for quite a bit since he'd gotten the Doom Zone researchers hooked onto his idea two months ago.

He paused for a moment, looking over to the doorway into the kitchen, through which he could see the Living Room from here. While he'd be cooking around this time of year, Ginny would be decorating, being that she couldn't cook if her life depended on it.

Turning back to chopping, he remembered his last Christmas holiday with her, around this time of year. Full with his cooking, house decorated ridiculously just because she could, them resting on the couch, Harry putting on some Muggle movie and explaining every ridiculous aspect to her as things went.

Of course, last time, he'd had to cook quite a bit more than usual, being that she'd been eating for two. And when his arms were wrapped around her as they lay on the couch, his hands were spread protectively over her bulging belly, over both her and their child.

She laughed at some of the ridiculousness of the Muggle world, and then they'd chat and talk for hours and suddenly they'd realize they'd dozed off and it was Christmas morning and they needed to get ready for the family coming over, and she'd go take the Healer prescribed nap while he'd cook more, until they'd fix up all the presents and-

-no.

_Wrong turn of thought, Harry._

Pushing away the sudden intrusion of Ginny's voice in his head, he turned back to the damn Roman pasta.

He doubted he'd ever get that again – but he'd give her back the life he took for her.

* * *

"So you're actually going back?"

Harry nodded, Percy's incredulity well justified. They sat in Harry's private office in Hogwarts, sipping at Harry's favorite Scotch, and both doing bits and piece of their own jobs while they talked, thankfully shut off from most of the world.

"Hopefully," Harry said, plucking a chocolate Easter egg Percy had gotten from some lower-down who was still under the delusion Percy was like Scrimgeour or Fudge, and that sucking up and bribery would work on him.

Harry wasn't complaining. The chocolate Easter eggs had either Caviar or 1912 wine in them, and the chocolate was white chocolate, enchanted not to melt until in the mouth – a far more complicated charm than most appreciated – and imported from France or someplace like that. All in all, delicious.

"Do me a favor, Harry?" Percy said. "Keep me from being such a prat."

"Hey, if I get things right, Voldemort won't come back, so most of that shit won't happen."

"Even before that. If what you've told me about the Researcers' new prediction is correct, you'll be entering your third year – I'll be Head Boy. Do me a favor and make sure I remain on good terms with…well, my whole family. This is when things started to crack between us. I don't want that to happen again."

Harry nodded as he bit into another white chocolate egg. "Any suggestions?"

"I don't know…make sure I don't keep throwing myself into my schoolwork to avoid my family. That's what I did. And _make_ me attend all the Quidditch games they play in – they got so bloody angry when I didn't show up. And…make sure my ego stays in check, all right? Keep bringing me down."

"Will do, Percy. But, I'll still try to push you back to Minister once that time comes."

Percy laughed. "Thank you. But…eighteen years, Harry? Do you really think you'll be able to manage that without insanity becoming a legitimate fear?"

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?" Harry said with a slight smirk, licking the wine from the inside of the egg. "But thank you for all the shit from me you've put up with, especially once the war ended."

"No problem," Percy said. "I'm the last Weasely. Original Weasely. It's my pleasure."

Harry nodded, and said, "So, how's the Sentience Coalition going?"

"Miserably. And the Inter-House social parties?"

"About the same."

Both men stared at each other for a long moment, before they burst out laughing.

Maybe something Harry would miss…but hopefully, should he not die, everything else will outweigh it.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Harry. Welcome to Age Thirty. Welcome to your third decade."

"I better enjoy it while it lasts. What time is it?"

"I know I said I'd tell you at midnight, but this is _hard_ – it's a bit past one am. Sorry."

"It's okay, Hottie-who-won't-tell-me-her-name-even-though-I'm-about-to-die."

Harry lay on the Rune Circle on the floor, inscribed with runes abound, stark damn naked.

Of course, while the researchers rather carved runes into Harry's thankfully medicated body, blood seeping everywhere, Hott Blonde, who he'd shagged a few times in the last few months and still didn't know her name, was making everything as awkward as possible. She was still going at it...which was pretty damn weird, considering she'd already tried to give him a hand-job in front of everyone while he was numb and his body carved into. Luckily for him, being disconnected from his nervous system also meant no erection.

Didn't stop her, though.

"…so, really, us carving into you like this when you're gorgeous and naked is just a case of super-kinky voyeurism!"

Why did he always attract only insane women?

"Hottie, love, please, I'm about to fucking _die_ – tell me your damn name!"

"Uh uh, no way," she said. "Takes all the fun out of it!"

"You're not even going to be around!"

"So?"

"Come on!"

"No."

Damn.

"Looking good, Potter."

Harry wished he could turn his head at the sound of Nilrem's voice, who suddenly stood over him. He was fairly sure Nilrem _wasn't_ carving runes before, but Harry's vision was stuck straight up, where his head was propped to face, towards the ceiling, which was now blocked by Nilrem's face.

"Thank you," Harry said wryly, before suddenly switching his tone to serious. "No, really, thank you – for all of this."

"Don't worry," Nilrem said, as he suddenly mobilized and numbed Harry's head with a spell and a potion, and carving the necessary runes on Harry's face. "We're sending back some of this information, that we've got, to our own past selves – don't ask how. Giving them basic data, letting them derive observations and such from it. Just in case the properties of this room don't protect us from the change."

...protect _them_ from the change? Properties of the room? He wasn't going to ask. Unspeakables' Territory - if they don't tell you something, it's for a good reason and you're better off not asking.

Harry mentally nodded – all of them catching it – and asked, _Can I connect to one of your lots' eyes? I want to see how I look._

_Sure,_ Hott Blonde said. _Mine. Don't look for my name, though._

And suddenly, Harry was looking at himself. Always a strange experience to connect to someone else's senses through Occlumency and Leglimency to see what you don't.

His whole body was covered in even, red wounds, all of them still bright red, the ones down by his ankles already starting to scab over, while the ones on his shoulders were still bleeding, the Researchers automatically clearing the blood magically as they worked to protect the body encasing Harry's soul.

And then he was back in his own senses

"Almost done, Harry, love. You better not have gotten my name. Anyway, half hour, and you'll be a Virgin again. Tops," Hottie amended.

And just as fast, they were gone.

Here came the hard part.

Harry was mobile again, and honest to god in lots of pain. Not from the cuts, themselves – he'd had plenty over a life time – but the pure, raw magic running through them.

And the magic beneath him, searing, as the Rune Circle came to life.

"See you on the other side, Harry!" Nilrem yelled.

"Save me a date!" Hott Blonde shouted.

Harry wanted to nod, wanted to acknowledge that he heard that, that he wasn't dead yet, that he was still here, and heard them, despite the fact they weren't making any sense because he was going alone. But, he couldn't.

Then he saw several wands pointing at him, and knew the crucial point was coming. The runes on his body and the circle beneath him had to work to keep his soul anchored and intact while they reversed…well, time.

If this didn't work…then this would be one hell of a dramatic suicide.

Oh, Merlin, here it comes. He could hear it in his – and their – heads as they shouted the curse, probably out loud.

Painless, at least.

_Avada Kedavra!_

And suddenly, there was no more pain.

* * *

Images flashing-

No, wait, not images – events. He was going through everything, in an impossible flash of sequence, watching people un-die, watching buildings rebuild themselves, watching children never be born, watching a war never start-

_Voldemort dying._

Suddenly, Voldemort was alive.

_Ginny dying._

But so was Ginny, on that couch, his arms around her, his nose in her head, his hands pressed against her belly, protecting their child, their _future_-

-and then suddenly, Quidditch, with all the Weasely children, even Percy, one fateful Christmas Eve, the one after Mrs. Weasely-

_Mr. and Mrs. Weasely dying._

Horcuxes and battles and feats and attacks and ambushes and counterattacks and strategies-

_His friends, dying._

Dumbledore in his portrait, telling Harry so much he hadn't known beforehand, about himself and the Horcruxes and Voldemort-

_Dumbledore dying._

Dumbledore alive! Event flashing faster, now, memory diving, Slughorn, luck potions, his first kiss with Ginny, Quidditch captain, destroying Dumbledore's office-

_Sirius dying._

The visions, Umbitch, almost torture, actual torture, quills, _blood_, so much blood…

_Cedric, dying._

The maze, the lake, the dragons, the goblet, that damn goblet of fire.

Quidditch cup, Dark Mark-

Sirius, the Willow, Buckbeak-

So fast, so damn fast, now, but he was still aware of each and every single moment, even though it was all going by him in a blur, literally at once as he went through them, immersed in his soul and body, each and every moment, sleeping and awake-

Hogsmade, first trip.

Map, Marauder's map-

Chocolate – chocolate? Chocolate! McGonagall, Lupin, train, Dementors!

Leaky Cauldron, parlor with Fudge,

Knight bus.

Marge blowing up.

The wine glass blowing up.

Chores. Hogsmade form…

Vernon, yelling…

And the crucial point:

About half past one am, on his birthday.

_Harry dying._

* * *

And suddenly, Harry woke up, small and scrawny and wearing glasses again for the first time in years, clutching a broom servicing kit, in his tatty bed and raggy nightclothes in the second bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive.

Sitting up from where he was laying on the bed, he looked around, drenched in sweat.

Like his nightmares. Was it all a night mare? Well, it definitely was nightmare…an almost two decade long nightmare. A lifelong nightmare.

He looked at the clock. Half past one am.

He had just turned 13.

* * *

**A/N:**** Tell me what you think.**


	2. Breathe

Chapter 02 Breathe

**Disclaimer:** Some of the lines of dialogue are taken directly from the book. This is meant for authenticity of the timeline, not intended copyright. Seriously, I'm not trying to pretend to be J.K. Rowling.

**Thanks to Hahukum Konn for beta-ing the fic for me, and JK Mafia for holding my hand through my incessant writing insecurities.**

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_And suddenly, Harry woke up, small and scrawny and wearing glasses again for the first time in years, clutching a broom servicing kit, in his tatty bed and raggy nightclothes in the second bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive._

_Sitting up from where he was laying on the bed, drenched in sweat._

_Like his nightmares. Was it all a nightmare? Well, it definitely _was_ a nightmare…a decade and a half long nightmare. A lifelong nightmare._

_He looked at the clock. Half past one AM._

_He'd just turned 13._

* * *

Gasping, Harry looked down at himself again. He was holding the broom servicing kit from Hermione, with the Sneakoscope and note from Ron and the newspaper clipping of all of them from Egypt with Mr. Weasley's winning money…

He took several deep breaths, getting a rather interesting looking from Hedwig (she was alive!), and Errol, in Hedwig's cage, and oh, god, he was really _back_, and Ron and Hermione and Ginny were all alive and-

_Deep breath._

Harry paced himself through the full motions of the damn meditative breathing he'd learned in the process of mastering Occlumency as best as he could. Annoying at times, helpful right now.

He'd been mentally and emotionally preparing himself for this for the whole half-year before coming here, when the Department of Mysteries workers first started working on this job.

Some help _that_ was.

_Bloody hell, I'm back!_

Then he looked down at the newspaper clipping with all the Weasleys, alive and well, waving at him. So overjoyed at the sight of all of them and the knowledge of them alive, he barely noticed or cared about Peter Pettigrew being right on Ron's shoulder.

Feeling the tears welling up in his eyes, he blinked harshly, and shoved himself out of bed.

He immediately swayed, looking down at his scrawny body, blinking as he remembered. Harry was used to the well trained, very fit body of a man he held in the future – a warrior's body, as Ginny had loved calling it.

Now, he was a gawky teenager with no muscles, no real 'filling', as a majority of the women he knew loved to put it, and he was still so skinny, some of his bones showed through, and his knobby knees were prominent. He was even back to wearing glasses again; he'd forgotten what it was like to wear glasses.

He was loving every minute of it.

Despite the fact he fell right back on the bed, Harry was grinning like a madman as he slowly and carefully flexed his arms, then his torso (god, he was weak, but it was _him!_), and finally stood up again.

This time, he stayed steady. Slowly, taking careful steps, he paced up and down the length of the bed, until he was steady as he could be, and then he carefully turned, and looked in the mirror, and froze.

Memories of simply _being_ thirteen flooded Harry, and suddenly, he felt disoriented, as already, memories of right now from _last_ time clashed with what was happening right now, and he was momentarily glad his room here was so small, as it meant he was only one step away from the bed when he needed to collapse again.

The kit, clipping, and card all scattered as Harry fell on top of it all, feeling like he'd just run ten kilometers at top speed, drowning in his own air.

His thoughts were racing and were as scattered as his birthday gifts now, feeling suddenly like his brains were being ripped apart right down the middle-

Except, he wasn't sure if it was painful or not, because damn it, it was all so confusing, because for some reason, along with being elated and overjoyed, he was terrified of the future, and at this intrusion, but, what intrusion? And-

_Breathe._

He calmed himself down again, carefully. Harry prided himself on his extraordinary self-control, and this was not helping.

_Breathe._

He had work to do. He couldn't lose control.

_Breathe._

Lives were at stake. Hundreds, thousands…well, no, just a bit over a thousand. A significant fraction of the British wizarding world, to say the least.

_Breathe._

All this trouble would go to waste, should he lose control.

_Breathe._

So what the hell was wrong with him?

_Breathe._

Souls. The one from the future and the one from the past were melting. Not fighting, per se. Just…melding together, and there was _bound_ to be some chaos, despite the fact his future half fully understood the past half, and the past half could see and get all the future memories…

But bloody hell, this was just so weird…

That was more probably the teenager in him speaking.

He giggled, madly, at the thought, until he was laughing at the sheer weirdness of it all, the laughing, heaving.

God, this was so weird. Earlier in the day before Harry had gone down to Doom Zone to do this, he'd had a pushing-off 'party' with Malfoy, Percy, Neville, and Luna, some members of the staff, and a few friends Harry wasn't supposed to have – the only ones who knew what he was doing. That was only hours ago for Harry, _felt_ like only a few hours ago. But he now also knew that time frame was almost two decades away. Oh, god, those people, he would _never_ see them again-

_Stop that_, he mentally commanded himself, laughing-sobs trailing off, into heavy, heavy breathing, as he lay back against the far-too-thin pillows, delving into his controlled breathing again, fighting the urge for an emotional disconnect, as was his usual response to emotional trials.

_They're all alive,_ he mentally said. _Second chances abound._

"I'm back," he said again, out loud in his relatively-high pitched voice to reassure himself.

And it worked. Harry normally wasn't one to be easily swayed, but in this case, he was.

He took a deep breath, and looked back at all the supplies on his bed, and made a mental note of where everything was, more out of habit than anything else. A leftover instinct from fighting in the war.

A war that now had never happened. And if everything went right, never would happen.

He almost grinned at the package he hadn't opened when his future soul had zoomed in, sitting a little ways away on the desk by the windowsill.

Rather than getting up, he tried wandless magic, trying to gauge where his skill level in it was. Wandless magic was difficult, but not impossible. However, he knew it would be harder, simply because magically speaking, he _was_ less powerful at thirteen than at thirty.

The book did come, but slamming into his stomach though, rather than his hands.

Well, at least it came – but then he winced, realizing the book had hit some leftover bruises. He didn't have the clearest of memories of this summer, but he was pretty sure his uncle got rather tipsy, and a little more violent (than usual, anyway), and Harry was the one who'd suffered the backlash, just a bit before his birthday.

And even more bizarre, he grinned at that memory. Pain always brought clarity of mind for Harry, and the slight throb from the bruises only seemed to reinforce that was really, truly _back_, and this wasn't some mad, mad dream.

Grinning giddily, he plucked the packaging away, and before Hagrid's _Monster Book of Monsters_ had the opportunity to snap at Harry and flee, he was already stroking the spine.

The book calmed down immediately, and Harry, setting the book on his lap and still stroking it, summoned the jar of ink over and a quill, opening it and filling the quill, before drawing multiple runes on the spine, and even inside the covers, focusing his magic to embed calm into them.

Now, even after he stopped stroking the book, the damn thing didn't snap at him.

Smiling, he slipped off the bed, gathering all the supplies, and stuffed them under the floorboard with everything else.

Picking up the Hogwarts letter, and the Hogsmade form, he paused, thinking ahead as he'd trained himself to do now. He'd come up with a better way to get his Uncle to sign this thing. With that in mind, he shoved the papers under the floorboard with everything else, and shut it, hiding them effectively enough to collapse back on the bed without worrying that Aunt Petunia might see something.

Taking a deep breath, he was suddenly grateful that he appeared _here_ first. Sure, popping up mid-second year would've been nice, along with being able to save Ginny from Tom Riddle and that wretched diary. But, if it was later, here was best.

The Dursleys were neutral for Harry – he didn't love them or hate them, but he simply didn't care. Well, no, in the future he was in decent contact with Dudley – enough for Harry to know his second niece would be entering Hogwarts in a few years. But Vernon and Petunia…

Suffice it to say, it was good practice to be here first, get him used to things. He may not have needed it – his mastered Occlumency, coupled with his life-long emotional blockade, left Harry with an almost impossibly high amount of emotional control – but being here first would certainly work towards making things easier.

Swinging his legs up, Harry pondered his sudden predicament of energy. He wasn't apt to sleep, at this point, too excited at the thought that everyone who died was now _alive_. But, he was physically exhausted, from the soul meld and the time travel.

It wasn't long spent mulling in his sleeping position on the bed before the exhaustion won out. If he was truly going to do this, he'd need some sleep, anyway.

Curling his knees up to his chest, not even bothering to slip under the covers, Harry fell asleep.

He was still 13.

And for the first time in years, Harry had pleasant, sweet dreams.

* * *

Breakfast smelt _wonderful_, even if he was the one cooking it.

All morning, Harry had been jumpy around the Dursleys, but they ignored it, thank God.

It was the shock of seeing them again that was disorientating. Dudley as a boy again (and weighing probably twice as much now than he did in the future), and seeing Vernon and Petunia alive…especially after having last seen them at their funeral.

Bizarre. Everything was bizarre, and he doubted it would get better.

Harry knew (hopefully, depending on how good his memory was) that within a few moments of him sitting down at the table, Uncle Vernon would announce his need to leave to pick up Aunt Marge. So instead, Harry handed him his plate of toast just as he entered, and was still standing there, holding the Hogsmade form, as his Uncle sat down.

"Uncle Vernon?"

Interaction was mentally taxing. Hm – despite all his emotional control, it might still be a lot harder than he thought.

"Yes?" he grunted.

"Can you sign this form?" Harry asked, even holding out a Muggle pen. "It's just so I can go to a little village just off the school. If I get hurt there or something, this form makes sure no one's liable."

Thankfully, Vernon caught Harry's slightly pointed look and bought into the slight lie, and nodded, signing it quickly, Harry having already filled out everything else.

Fighting the urge to grin maniacally, he pocketed the form and pen, and went back to breakfast, Vernon leaving for Aunt Marge soon enough.

When he was finally able to escape to his own room, he quietly shut the door, then leaned against it.

No emotional problems, really. But just the sheer _shock_ of seeing dead people alive again was almost overwhelming. Hopefully, that would fade in time for him to see his friends.

To which extent he mentally reminded himself that they _were_, in fact, alive again, his friends and family. He was trying to get rid of as much shock as he could to lessen the blow when he finally saw them, which he would – hopefully soon.

Tucking the form safely into his trunk again, Harry headed back out to help Petunia with cleaning up the house before the bitch and her damn dog showed up. He hated that dog. Already, he had to anticipate what was going to happen, making sure to _not_ blow up the wine glass.

Only her, when the time came.

* * *

"You there! Boy! Get my coat."

Another strange thing – being called a boy again. Refreshing, even if it was meant to jab. He'd gotten far too used to the prestige that came with his high positions in multiple facets of the government, the respect of being Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the social status of being the Chosen One. The only time he was addressed as 'boy' was as Boy-Who-Lived, which he sadly still was in the future.

Shock measures were certainly a nice way to get used to things.

"Yes, Aunt Marge," Harry said, blankly. Being the Dursley's little house-self again _wasn't_ as refreshing. But, it helped.

This time, however, after putting Marge's things away, he wasn't going to let himself be taken advantage of by that dog. While Harry had always been pretty good with animals, the dog was always the exception. But he'd fine tuned it over the years, and he'd be damned if he let the vicious mutt bit him again. It took some mental concentration on calming auras in his mind, but it worked.

That, and the look on everyone's faces when Harry was found petting the calmed dog instead of running from it, was well worth it.

Focusing on his Occlumency shields, trying mentally to develop it as he _always_ did, Harry kept himself low profile with this bitch around.

And _not_ meaning the dog. Though, the dog was male if memory served correctly.

His capability to handle the new onslaught of everyone being around, even with months of conditioning, did change things slightly, but the over all plan was the same. He'd seen the news report on the telly of Sirius's escape from 'a high security prison', and needed to prepare for that.

Things managed to rush past Harry in a blur of events, suddenly realizing he'd gotten through that dinner with Marge _without_ blowing up her wine glass.

This time, instead of leaving the table with the Dursleys looking at him, it was with Marge thanking Petunia for the lovely dinner, and asking her where she learned to cook so well.

His cooking again. Shit, he still liked cooking, and apparently it leaked into the meal for damn Aunt Marge. He hadn't meant for that, but he'd started already getting lost in fond memories while he'd cooked.

It was with that in mind that Harry changed his plan slightly as he went to bed that night after making a few 'arrangements'. Assuming she went on her rant again, Harry might just bloat her up anyway and pin it on accidental magic. He knew the spell to do it – assuming that his body's accidental magic didn't get to it first.

For a moment, he was glad for the nature of temporal mechanics. The time stream did have its own consciousness – not on a level that any sentient being could possibly grasp, and certainly the consciousness actually wasn't sentient in and of itself.

But one thing that consciousness didn't like was being messed with. If Harry got his numbers right (and if the Unspeakables had been right in confirming it), then the nature of the time stream, when one went back in time, was to try and stick to original events as much as possible.

This played both to Harry's advantage and disadvantage, in the overall scheme of things.

In the scenario of fucking with Marge, it played very much to his advantage.

With a smile, he went to sleep, reveling in the fact he hadn't had one nightmare since he got here. All pleasant dreams.

* * *

Mentally preparing himself, Harry set the dishes for dinner that night.

The night before, Harry had packed just about everything short of his wand into the trunk, after picking the lock to the cupboard under the stairs. He'd be able to leave in a flash.

Swallowing down the nervousness, he sincerely wished he could've at least snuck some of the wine while setting the table. He'd wanted to, and had been perfectly able to. However, as much as a little liquid courage would be helpful right about now, he needed absolute clarity of mind to pull this off.

He mentally groaned at the realization it might be a while before he could have a drink.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?" Uncle Vernon offered, brandishing the brandy.

God, Harry wanted to have some. Looking aside slightly, he saw Marge's face was already red. Good.

"Just a small one then," she chuckled. "A bit more than that…and a bit more…that's the ticket."

Harry remembered vaguely wanting to disappear into the bedroom, last time this happened. Not this time, though. As he watched her guzzle the drink, he started already feeling his palms sweat again.

"Aah," she said. Lip smacking – check. Practically slamming the glass down with inebriated force – check. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after…" Burp. Ugh, he could smell it from all the way over here. And then…ah, patting her stomach. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy." Wink at Dudley. Please, keep going. "You'll be a proper sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…"

She poured, and turned her eyes to Harry.

He sorely wanted to go into his emotional disconnect, right now. Using Occlumency to dramatically dampen the severity of his emotions…but no. If he wanted to stand a chance of accidental magic working, his emotions needed to be in full force.

Good old fashioned self-control, then.

"Now, this one here-" she said, indicating Harry.

He fought a smile. Here it comes-

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one, last year. Ratty little thing, it was. Weak. Underbred."

Poor dog. Harry fought another urge to wince – he liked animals, even the ones he hated in the original timeline. Bizarrely enough, working with them in the future has led to him having a way with them. Marge still didn't get how or why Harry was actually getting along with her dog.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other say. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bed egg. They turn up in the best of families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result, right in front of us."

_I hope you rot in hell, bitch,_ Harry thought viciously at her, so sorely tempted to project that thought into her head. But he restrained, focused on channeling magic to hopefully explode in the right direction. Staring at his plate, he fought the strong urge to wrap his hands around her throat to get her to shut up, since he knew what she was going to say next.

And he did know how to kill with his bare hands. Muggle combat had come quite in handy on several occasions in the future.

He vaguely remembered the sleek power of his Animagus form, and felt better already at the thought of ripping her to shreds. Probably not exactly conducive to a healthy mental state, but _that_ went out the window ages ago, anyway.

"This Potter," Marge said, splashing brandy on the tablecloth. He almost felt sorry for Petunia. Almost. "You never told me what he did?"

Already looking slightly smug, Vernon said, "He…didn't work. Unemployed."

_That's what you think. Quite the opposite, Uncle Vernon. Quite the opposite._

"As I expected!" Marge practically shouted. Harry tensed. This was when he would have to send things downhill, himself. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who-"

"He was not!"

God, that felt good. It was petty and childish, but Damnit, he was thirteen again. He had a right to be. Hell, he was _supposed_ to be.

"MORE BRANDY!" Vernon yelled, before turning on Harry. "You, boy, go to bed, go on-"

"No, Vernon," Marge said, with a nice hiccup. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They do and get themselves killed in a car crash, drunk I expect-"

"They didn't die in a car crash!"

And the magic released.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar-"

And then she stopped.

She was swelling in anger.

Then in magic.

His face morphing into appropriate shock, he felt a rather sick sense of satisfaction as she bloated beyond reason. Eyes bulging out of her head, buttons popping off, fingers stiff with bloating-

And then she began floating up off the chair.

"MARGE!"

Now she was a giant balloon, vaguely making Harry think of that annual parade in New York that Hermione had made him attend in the future, as she rolled around the ceiling.

Crying out, Vernon seized one of her legs and tried to pull her down, Ripper the damn dog biting down on Vernon's leg to try and keep _him_ down when he was still lifted off, anyway.

…_now_.

Rushing away from the dining room, he ran for the cupboard under the stairs, the thing already bursting open from magic as he approached it.

Magic pouring from his fingers to the trunk, it helped him lift it and drag it out of the cupboard and land by the front door, as he rushed upstairs, this time not tripping, and grabbing his wand from under the pillow, and yanking on a sweatshirt as he left the room.

He ran down and popped out the wheels from under the trunk just in time to see Vernon brambling up to him.

"COME BACK IN HERE AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

Remembering last time explicitly (probably largely to do with actually being here again), he pointed his wand at Vernon.

The panic on his face…he almost wished Colin Creevy were here to take a picture.

"No bloody way," Harry growled. "She deserved it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've had enough of all of you."

And the front door, already unlocked, burst open, and Harry stepped out into the chilly night.

* * *

He'd forgotten how dark Magnolia Crescent could be, this time of night, even with the streetlights.

Vaguely recalling the spot from last time, Harry collapsed, letting the anger surge through him, before shutting his eyes and mentally envisioning calming rune after calming rune, almost desperately trying to calm himself down.

He smiled slightly as he remembered how panicked he'd been, last time, about being arrested, as he threw out his wand arm, calling to the Knight Bus, already initiating an emotional disconnect, just in case.

This time, he knew he'd be all right. The Ministry was secretly guarding him, after all, what with Sirius on the loose-

_Sirius!_

The prickling on his neck couldn't have had better timing as he whipped around to see a large, black down, watching him from the shadows.

He grinned. Oh, dear god, he so wanted to run up to Sirius and hug him and yell his name-

But no. He had a part to play. Harry was intensely grateful for his emotional disconnect – he doubted he would've been able to resist, otherwise.

"_Lumos."_

Padfoot coming into full view, Harry hoped his smile did, too. "Hey, mutt…what're you doing out here? You run away from someone?"

Last time, Harry had driven the dog away in a panic before the Knight Bus came. This time, the dog carefully approached.

Pulling the dog-loving-boy act, Harry said, "It's all right, doggy…I won't hurt you."

The dog cocked its head. Harry knew that at this point, Sirius was playing a part as much as he was.

He wondered if Sirius was fighting the same temptation to maul him in elation.

"Do you know your way home? Stupid question, I doubt you're magical…"

The dog snorted, slightly. It might sound like a sneeze to anyone else, but Harry paused, as if in deliberation. "Okay, maybe you are. Either way, let's look for a collar on you, see if someone's missing you…"

Just as Harry took a step closer, fighting a grin at knowing Sirius's indignation at the suggestion of a collar, Harry's head snapped up as the bus's bright light approached.

_Act confused,_ he reminded himself, his veins flooded with remorse at having to lose Sirius again so soon.

"What the fuck…?" Harry said.

Padfoot ran off, and Harry called after him, before acting as if he gave up, and turned just in time to have the door to the triple-decker bus stop right in front of him.

Then Stan Shunpike stepped out of the door.

Harry took a deep breath, reminding himself that Stan wasn't an Imperiused Death Eater, not yet, and hopefully never. But it was hard to fight back the mental image of Stan killing-

_Stop thinking about it!_

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," Shunpike said, as Harry firmly planted a dazed and confused look on his face. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step aboard, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

Harry smiled, pretending to be confused, still, and donning a slowly-rising mask of understanding.

"Anywhere?"

"Yep," Stan said proudly, this time still not seeing Harry's scar. "Anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater."

"What's the fare to London? The Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked, already levitating his trunk with his wand. He doubted the Ministry would care for a little levitation after blowing up his aunt like that.

"Eleven sickles. But for firteen, you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen, you get an 'ot water bottle an' a a toofbrush in the color of your choice."

Harry nodded and reached into his pocket, his bag of money already in there, as he stepped onto the bus, momentarily just setting his trunk down on his floor. He pulled out eleven sickles, and handed it to Shunpike. "Thanks," Harry said.

Stan shoved Harry's trunk under the bed directly behind the driver, saying, "You 'ave this one."

Standing upright, as the elderly driver turned around, Stan said, "This is our Ernie Prang. And Ernie, this is…er, ne'er mentioned the name, did ye, kid?"

"Oh…" Harry held out his hand to Stan. "The name's Harry. Harry Potter."

Instantly, both their eyes shot up to his forehead, and Harry sighed, tilting his head slightly so the hair fell, and the scar was revealed.

"Bloody hell," Stan said. "Harry-bloomin'-Potter, on our own bus."

"It's an honor," Ernie said, shaking Harry's hand next, before turning back in his seat.

_Some fucking honor._

Harry sitting on the bed and wrapping his hand around the bedpost, he smiled slightly as Shunpike said, "Take 'er away, Ern!"

BANG

This time, Harry didn't even feel nauseous from the ride. He had a much better equilibrium, now, from some rather more…hectic, or maybe chaotic would be the word…methods of transportation in the future. Shadow-walking certainly took some getting used to.

Harry read the newspaper article about Sirius, and felt his blood boil again, and remembered with a soft smile his plans to free Sirius as fast as possible. He'd clear the man's name and have Peter in prison by the end of the year.

Failure really wasn't an option.

Again riding on numbers, that wouldn't have too much of an impact on the Triwizard Tournament, which is all Harry would need the 'close to the timeline' to stretch out for.

Hell, if everything went right, everything would be set right in just two years. The Horcruxes would be gone, and Voldemort would be dead.

* * *

As soon as Harry hopped off the bus, which left promptly after, Harry was fighting a cringe as, "_There_ you are, Harry!" rang out.

Cornelius Fudge – Head Bastard, himself. And sadly, still Minister for Magic. Oh, well – hopefully, Harry could somehow get Percy into the position, anyway, when the time came.

Of course, Harry still had a part to play.

Eye widening, he hopped his stammering sounded genuine as he said, "M-Minister?!"

"Yes, yes, Harry – come along."

And he clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, who flinched away. He'd come to flinch at sudden contact from life with the Dursleys, lost the habit, and then got it back again from the war.

Strange how these things come and go.

Slightly surprised, the Minister pulled his hand back and simply levitated Harry's trunk into the pub.

The familiar, stooped figure with a lantern appearing, and a welcoming sight of the toothless landlord, Harry said, "Hello, Tom."

"Harry!" he said in greeting, before turning to the Minister. "You've got him!" Harry panicked appropriately, and the Minister said, "Oh, calm down, Harry."

"Would you like anything to drink?"

Pretending to be startled, Harry nodded 'shakily' and said, "Have any Butterbeer?"

Marching them both along, he led them both into the same exact parlor as last time, before taking Harry's trunk with him, and leaving those two alone.

"Sit down, Harry," Fudge said, and Harry took the seat by the fire. Tom reappeared, setting on the small table a tray with crumpets, tea, and two Butterbeers, before vanishing again.

"Well, Harry," Fudge said, as he handed Harry one of the Butterbeers, then set himself to his tea. "You've has us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that!"

"Er, sir?" Harry asked, taking a sip that looked nervous. Hopefully. "What's going on? I mean…I don't get why the _Minister for Magic_ would be greeting me after…I left my…the Dursleys. Or…oh, god, is this about my uncle's sister? Minister, I swear, I didn't mean-"

"It's all right, Harry," Fudge said. "Two members from the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched two hours ago to deal with Miss Marjorie Dursley. She has been deflated, and her memory modified."

"Ah…and…"

Fudge smiled in an understanding smile. Man was a good actor, Harry had to give him that. Then again, he _was_ a politician. "Your aunt and uncle? They are furious, I won't lie to you. But, they will take you back next summer, don't worry."

"I don't want to go back," Harry said, taking another sip of Butterbeer. Bloody hell, he wished he could get something with some actual kick to it.

"It's inevitable, I'm afraid," Fudge said, finally taking the seat across from Harry. "Besides, they're your family. I'm sure deep down, you're fond of them and-"

"No, not really," Harry said. "I don't really care for them, and the feeling's mutual."

Fudge blinked, not knowing how to respond, before deciding, apparently, to just plunge on ahead.

"So," Fudge said. "You have two weeks left until vacation – I suggest you should stay here. I'm sure there's a room free, here-"

"Wait a tick," Harry said, letting elation, relief, and hope seep into his voice. "I'm not being expelled? Or arrested?"

"No!" Fudge said, smiling.

"Last year, I got a warning because a _house-elf_ did magic. And I got blamed for it."

"Circumstances change, Harry," Fudge said.

"And if I'm not being punished," Harry said, as if working through a difficult problem. "Why…why are you here? I mean, since when does the Minister get involved in underage magic?"

Fudge took a deep breath and said, admittedly diplomatically, "Because you are the Boy Who Lived. There are…many unscrupulous people…out there, who would like to cause you great harm, more so than any other child your age."

Harry paused for a few seconds, hopefully an appropriate one.

"Like Sirius Black?" he asked. "I heard he was a big Voldemort supporter."

As expected, Fudge flinched, almost choking on his crumpet, but then swallowing it down.

Sighing resignedly, Fudge said, "Yes. The risk of harm to you does, unfortunately, increase with men like Black out there."

"Is he trying to finish Voldemort's job, then?"

"Please, Harry, don't say the name. And we don't know for sure what he's planning. But he's the first person in history-"

-_That you'll admit to-_

"-to break out of Azkaban. He's unpredictable."

Harry sighed, and nodded. "There's always someone who wants to kill me."

Fudge wisely chose to ignore that.

"Well, I shall be right back, Harry. I'll go see if there's a room free…"

Fudge left, and Harry stared into the fire.

Marge blown-up – check.

Seeing Sirius – check.

Meeting Fudge here – check.

"Harry, room eleven is free."

Room here – check.

Everything was in motion – he was really here and really doing this.

* * *

"…so, with that charm to defend against burnings, witches also developed a complex system for whenever a _Muggle_ was accused of being a witch," Fortescue explained, as Harry took another bite of sundae. "That way, they could cast the charm, and a variation of the Confundus Charm to get the Muggle screaming, and an illusion charm or two to making them look like they were burning to a crisp. They would shuttle the Muggle to safety, afterwards, to somewhere far away from their home, where no one would recognize them."

Harry grinned, adding that to his notes. "Thank you, Mr. Fortescue. And please, sir, let me pay for this-"

"Not at all!" Fortescue said, as he got up from where he'd been helping Harry with his History of Magic essay on witch burnings. "You're the Boy Who Lived!"

Harry cringed and said, "Being famous sucks."

At this, Fortescue's broad smile softened. "I understand."

But he still didn't let Harry pay for the sundae.

Harry sighed and finished up his last bit of ice cream and sundae, and headed to the bookstore where he bought his school books earlier in the previous week.

As he entered, the manager, Mr. Bott smiled and waved at Harry happily, immediately rushing over to help. Harry had told him the secret of stroking the spines of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ to calm them down, and then said using two thinner strings, rather than one belt, was far more effective in containing them.

Grateful, the man had given Harry's entire book supply for free. And now, whenever Harry came in to search for a random book that would suit his fancy, he got them all half off.

"Anything in particular you're looking for, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Blott asked.

Harry shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Just browsing."

"In that case, I have something you might like. You mentioned having an interest in how magic actually works, and I have a few books on magical physics…"

Harry smiled and walked over, finally selecting a book he hadn't read or even heard of, yet, paying for it, and heading further down Diagon Alley, sitting under in an umbrella-covered table outside a small café, only vaguely reading the new book.

Vaguely, because inside, he was panicking. Tomorrow, he would be seeing the Weasley family, again, and Hermione. He knew he would have to disconnect his emotions the moment he saw them, because he knew he wouldn't be able to help himself. Years since he saw them, last seeing them dead…

He would admit it: he was terrified.

But he would get through this. He always did.

Too much was at stake for him to fail.

* * *

It was so weird to see people he knew. Dean and Seamus – his first real _friends_ he'd met, who died in the past. He'd let himself become so immersed in the past, that he hadn't even _needed_ an emotional disconnect to deal with those two. He'd just laughed and chatted and speculated how fun riding a Firebolt would be.

And Neville. He was still alive in the future, and had been talking to Harry hours before he left the future. But it was a sharp, and disorienting, contrast between Neville Longbottom, the round-faced, nervous, forgetful third year, and Neville Longbottom, the well-toned, confident, and sharp Head of the Aurors.

Disorientation, however, was cancelled by the sheer hilarity of seeing Neville being told off by his grandmother. She was still alive and well in the future – and still the only one left who could intimidate Neville. It was like watching the Head of Aurors being scolded by an old woman all over again.

Battling down a strong urge to run in the other direction as he headed out of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry headed towards where the Firebolt was being shown. Any minute, now, in front of the ice cream parlor-

"Harry! HARRY!"

Oh, god, Ron.

Already, he was dampening his emotions as he turned around-

-and that didn't feel like it did much good at all. The problem was he couldn't cut his emotions off completely, and if his natural emotions were strong enough, sometimes they overrode the dampening.

Which just led him to laugh when Hermione launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around him in her typical, bone-crushing hug.

For a moment, he let his senses be engulfed by the papery smell of her hair in his face again and the feel of her arms around him and the sight of her simply _being alive_-

"Harry, I've missed you!"

Wrapped his arms around her – damn, a teenager again, that awkward, geeky teenager again – he hugged her back, hard, and said, "I've missed you, too."

_So much more than you can imagine._

She stepped back, a grin on her face as Ron, rolling his eyes at her exuberance, gave Harry a very brief, one-armed hug and said, "Finally."

Harry laughed as he sat down, those two having already ordered some ice cream, and Fortescue already bringing Harry his usual Butterscotch-Dribbled Vanilla, coated with marshmallows and an abundance of cherries on top.

At least with three of them, he finally let Harry pay for the ice cream.

"So you were looking for me?" Harry asked, fighting the almost smothering urge to jump up and embrace them both and never let go.

"We went to the Leaky Cauldron," Ron said. "But they said you'd left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin's, and-"

"How do you know where I'm staying?"

"Dad," Ron said."He heard stuff around the Ministry."

Suddenly, he started snorting again as Hermione said, "It isn't funny, Ron. Harry, did you really blow up your aunt?"

Making himself look somewhat sheepish, he said, "I didn't mean to. I just…lost control."

"I'm just amazed you weren't expelled," she said.

"_I'm_ just amazed I didn't get arrested," Harry said.

"Probably 'cause it's you," Ron said, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to _me_ if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, we're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, too! So you can some to King's Cross with us tomorrow. Hermione's there, as well."

He remembered. And oh, god, seeing them all _again_.

As Hermione explained about her parents letting her buy her own gift, Harry leaned back in his seat and ate a caramel-sprinkled cherry, letting all this wash over again, hoping it wasn't all a dream.

"…I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig, and you've got Errol-"

"Not really. Errol's a family owl," Ron explained, as he reached into his pocket for-

-oh, shit.

_Scabbers_.

"All I've got is Scabbers. And I want to get him checked over. I don't think Egypt agreed with him."

Now Harry reestablished his emotional dampeners all over again, this time against the fury at the sight of his parents' traitor and Sirius's framer, snuggled up in the palm of Ron's hand.

"There's a magical creature shop just over there," Harry said, gesturing with his hand in its general direction. "We can go there."

* * *

"Come along, everyone!" Mrs. Weasley yelled at the lot. "Through the platform, before you miss your train!"

"But Mum!" One of the twins said. The other one said, "We've got half an hour!" The first one said, "No need to fret."

"_You_ don't need to fret," Percy said. "But _I_ have Head Boy Duties to attend to."

"Right, now, Arthur, you first, Harry and Ginny next, then Ron and Hermione…"

As Mrs. Weasley organized them all into an ordered chaos to get them through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry smiled rather contentedly around him.

Ginny was being her more-embarrassed-than-last-year self, her crush on him and him saving her life in the Chamber of Secrets snowballing into that effect. The twins were, as usual, making a mess of things, causing as much disruption as they could. Percy was being his pompous old self, and Ron was making sure his rat tonic for Scabbers was packed in his bag.

Last night had been erratic for Harry. He managed to not talk much, and sat himself near Percy for much of the night. Even though Head Boy Percy and Minister Percy were drastically different, at least Percy had been alive when Harry had left.

Seeing everyone as they were, last night, was just bizarre, even compared to what he'd last seen of each of them alive. Fred was human, Bill wasn't a werewolf, Ron wasn't neurologically scarred, Ginny wasn't pregnant…

Christ, it had all been so damn _weird_. That was the only other word he could think of it.

He'd let himself just drown in being here again, letting himself forget that he was from the future. Great thing about being two souls in one, for all intents and purposes. He'd let himself 'overhear' the argument between the Weasley parents as he went to get Ron's rat tonic (and fought the urge to poison it or something), and had gone to bed thoroughly exhausted, more mentally than anything else.

And now, here they were, about to get on the train-

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley said. "Can I talk to you?"

Harry frowned, but nodded, as Mr. Weasley placed an arm loosely around Harry's shoulders and steered him towards the pillar behind which Harry was fairly sure Arthur had talked to him behind last time.

"Harry," Arthur said…Harry was going to have to get used to calling him Mr. Weasley, again. "Some think I should not be telling you this, but I think you have a right to know."

"Is this about Sirius Black?" Harry asked, already dreading this conversation. At the man's surprised look, Harry said, "I overheard you and Mrs. Weasley last night. He's trying to kill me?"

This actually hurt. "Promise me, Harry, that you won't go looking for him?"

"Why would I do that?! He's trying to kill me!"

"Promise me?"

"Arthur!" Molly – Mrs. Weasley – called out. "It's about to leave!"

"He's coming!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "Harry, promise me?"

Harry just nodded, and let Arthur shepherd him to the train, and before long, he was leading Ron and Hermione down the train.

Weird.

He already knew what compartment they had – and again, all the others were full – and had to fight a grin at the sight of Remus sleeping in the compartment.

"Who's he?" Ron asked as they quietly filed in.

"Professor R.J. Lupin," Hermione said, as she started levitating their trunks into the racks.

"How do you know?"

"It's on his trunk, Ronald."

"…oh."

"Probably teaching Defense," Harry said, as he took a seat opposite Remus. With a shrug, he said, "Ron, Hermione, listen – I've got a lot to tell you…"

* * *

He reiterated everything he'd 'learned' about how Black was most probably after him and the argument and everything. Like last time, they both worried insanely, but it died down quickly.

This time, when they started speculating about Hogsmeade, Harry was able to join right in, having gotten his permission slip signed, this time. The timing was off, when things started to play out, but it wasn't too far off.

"Cauldron Cake?" Harry offered after the food-cart witch left. Hermione gladly accepted one just as the door opened.

Yet another drastic contrast. Draco of the future was an almost polar opposite of the Malfoy in front of him right now.

"Well look who it is. Potty and the Weasel."

So strange to see Draco as such an immature brat again.

Harry, wanting to be gone of this disconcerting Draco, and the killers of many of his friends standing right behind him, snorted and said, "Didn't know you'd be stupid enough to cause trouble with a _teacher,_ here, Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced at Remus, taking in the _Professor R.J. Lupin_ stamp, and hurried himself, Crabbe, and Goyle along.

Ron smiled as they left. "One good thing about having a teacher in here."

Harry smiled back as he settled back in his seat comfortably. Even though he knew Dementors would be coming soon, and he was going to have to put up his act – though without the fainting this time – he was still delighted at simply _being_ here.

* * *

"_HARRY!"_

He heard someone screaming his name as the Dementor stood at the doorway to their compartment, but he didn't know who – his mother? His friends? Ginny?

He got the feeling it didn't matter.

This time, with intensive Occlumency – and a few extra tricks up his proverbial sleeve – Harry remained conscious throughout the ordeal.

That didn't make it any less harrowing.

"None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," Remus said to the Dementor. "Go."

Of course, the Dementor didn't go – Harry was a walking buffet to it – so Remus muttered the Patronus under his breath, and because Harry knew to look for out of the corner of his eye, he saw the vague outline of a wolf going at it, chasing the hell thing away.

After a moment, the lights came back on, and Hermione, quick to react, instantly noted that Harry, who was shaking in front of his seat, somewhat in shock and frozen, even to Neville and Ginny's proddings, was the worst for wear. He didn't faint, this time, but he still had memories resurfacing that were better left untouched. Dementors still had a huge impact on him, even if he could, now, control his reaction to them.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said. He still had slid right off his seat. He hauled himself up and, when noting Ginny's trembling and quiet tears, absently wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. He had no doubt what she was remembering.

"Here," Remus said, handing them all chocolate. Harry made a point to look at it, rather confused, for a moment when he got his rather large piece, to which Remus said, "It'll help. And don't worry, Harry – it's not poisoned."

Harry wasn't surprised Remus was using his first name. And he could get away with it, too – who _didn't_ know Harry Potter? No one here would suspect that Remus simply knew him from babyhood.

"Thanks, Professor Lupin," Harry said, after taking a bite, relishing in the spreading of warmth.

As Remus turned to head back up the train to make sure everyone was all right, Harry looked out the window, and saw the outline of a castle in the darkness in the distance.

It was unnerving, to be going in as a student, rather than a headmaster. But that didn't change the fact that it was home.

Smiling at the familiar sight of it, Harry leaned back in his seat as the train kept going towards Hogwarts, passing the Dementors. There was, however, only one thing Harry was even _willing_ to keep in his mind at the sight:

_Home._


End file.
